


you owe me a pig’s heart

by valleyofthewind



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, First Love, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Fucking Burn, friendly neighbourhood teenage angst, rated T for swearing and a slither of mentions of sex and homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valleyofthewind/pseuds/valleyofthewind
Summary: Lame as it was, there was only one thing that had never changed over the past years: Seungkwan. But, suddenly, as if a inexorable, overnight phenomenon, he had to share his best friend with the entire school. And this was, to say the least, the worst thing that had happened in the span of Hansol’s short life.(alternatively: it takes hansol ten years to admit that he’s in love)





	you owe me a pig’s heart

**Author's Note:**

> a while ago, i posted a verkwan story with this exact same title. well, that's deleted now, and in a moment of utter madness i rewrote the entire story and made it completely different. like, it went from a story based on sci-fi, dnd and space raiders to this sappy childhood friends AU. the title is the same, but that's about it. enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

_1_

The first thing Hansol’s class did on the first day of year one in primary school was this: learn each other’s names.

Well, isn’t that obvious? The teacher wants the class to be distracted from the fact that they are all six, seven old, and so far in their lives have a complete lack human empathy, and try from day one to have them to be nice to each other, be friends, so they don’t have to deal with mean comments and bullying and everything else that comes with year one of primary school – to every child who’s not really like the rest of them. They think a couple of games in the morning will help build a trusty bond between these savage, crude monsters. Or, something like that. Or, they just want to spend time from lessons to learn the childrens name – the ones they haven’t bothered to learn before the term starts.

He remembers his primary school teacher well. Ms. D. She’d never once told them her full surname. She’d just said it was long – she was of Russian slash Balkan descent, or something; not that any of them knew what that meant at their age – and complicated, and she shortened it down to one letter for them: D. As the class was gathering on the carpet, some of them shy, some bolder than others, she clapped her hands to get their attention and said, “Here’s what I had in mind: everyone says their name, along with an adjective – everyone knows what that is right?; a describing word – that starts with the same letter as their name. My given name is Alina, so I would be,” she paused, “amazing Alina, perhaps.” She smiled at them. “Got it?” The class nodded in unison, and everyone started thinking about what their own adjective should be.

As Hansol scanned his brain for ideas, the boy sat next to him swiftly shot his hand to the sky. Hansol looked over, surprised, at his carpet-neighbour who’d been so sure of himself.

Ms. D looked at him. Her eyebrows were raised, but she was still smiling. “Oh. Have you already thought of one?”

“Yes,” the boy said, determined. The rest of class was mildly in awe of his proud grin and arm swaying high in the air. “Smart Seungkwan.”

She laughed kindly. “Well done, Seungkwan.” Hansol liked her, he realised. He hadn’t quite decided his opinion on Seungkwan yet. The names continued, a blur of different adjectives and syllables and everything was all muddled up in his head. A few decades had passed before it was his turn.

“Um.” He hadn’t really been thinking. His eyes had been stuck on Seungkwan’s face, how he was grinning without a care in the world, and how his huge brown eyes were glittering. Everything about him glowed. Even his skin. Hansol hesitated, and said, “Helpful Hansol.”

It was lame. He knew it even at the age of seven. Not even just lame. The _epitome_ of lameness. Something like that. Seungkwan giggled next to him, Hansol blushed awkwardly, and he hated that feeling of embarrassment. And so came the first sentence he ever uttered to Boo Seungkwan: “Shut up, Seungkwan.”

Everyone in class 1Do collectively gasped. At this age, telling someone to ‘shut up’ was as serious as writing them a death threat. Ms. D. stared at him. “Where did you learn sewer words that, Hansol?”

Hansol shrugged, looking down at the crimson pleated carpet. He had two older brothers – of course he knew how to say a simple _shut up_. ‘Shut up’ was a sewer word? Ms. D obviously hadn’t heard his brothers playing online video games. He lived under his elder siblings’ oppressive regime, and was used to hearing things like this. Anyone with siblings could’ve related to that, right?

Ignoring their stunned faces and open mouths, Hansol turned to Seungkwan, expecting him to look angry, even hoping for a modicum of an outraged expression. But he only chuckled. That annoyed Hansol. “Whatever,” he said, now growing sulky. The girl sitting on the other side of him shuffled away a little.

Seungkwan huffed. “That wasn’t very _helpful_ of you.”

“I said _whatever_ ,” he started, before Ms. D cut them both off, frowning, before her master plan of stopping the children from hating each other failed. “Now, now,” she said sternly. Hansol felt as though he’d disappointed her, which made him feel bad, and it was all Smart Seungkwan’s fault. Seungkwan. Who even was he? “You two. Seungkwan, Hansol. There’s no need to fight. You have a couple of long years together ahead of you. They’ll be even longer if you decide to behave that way.”

Hansol furrowed his eyebrows. Seungkwan smiled warmly. As if heat radiated from his face, or something like that. It felt like it did. “Sorry,” he muttered. He wasn’t really sorry in the slightest, in reality, but he knew Ms. D’s words were correct. And he had been reminded of something crucial – the fact that he was stuck with these people for the next couple of years. And he’d have to get used to it. 

Three months later, in early December, Kouseki Primary School – often shortened down to a simple KPS – set up a ‘Christmas Letter Box’. The point of it was to write Christmas letters to people in your class or in, if you so wished to, different classes and years. Merely as a fun thing, Hansol supposed. But it went a little overboard. Children starting taking it very seriously. Like, very seriously. For instance: competing over whose letters were the prettiest, taking other’s letters out of the box, changing words on them with glitter pens. Things like that. The teachers decided that they now would control read through all of the letters before they were “delivered” (the “delivery” of the letters was that a bored year six came in wearing a cheap santa hat and handed the letters out, stiffly, to whoever’s names were marked on envelopes, then left). Seungkwan was, of course, off his head with rage at the news.

“What if the letter is _private_?” he was saying to Hansol one lunch, stabbing the apple juice carton he was holding with its small, plastic straw. “Why do the teachers get to read them?”

“Private?” Hansol asked, clueless.

Seungkwan glanced at him, giving him one of those looks. Like: _you’re being stupid, Sol._ That was how their newly blossomed friendship worked. It had been like that since playtime of their first day, when they’d decided to call a truce and, very diplomatically, said that they would simply get along instead of fighting. Since that moment, they’d spent day in and day out together in school. “Yes, private. Like a _love confession_.” He said ‘love confession’ as some people would say ‘murderer’, or how the teachers would say ‘not washing your hands with soap before lunch’.

“So what?” Hansol said, bored. Then he realised something. “Did _you_ send someone a love confession?”

Seungkwan's face turned a deep shade of crimson. And, _wow._ All of a sudden, Hansol realised that he was right. One hundred per cent _right._ There was not a single non-right ounce in his body. Seungkwan had written a private love letter. A love letter! Now, in primary school, as you may remember, things like this were serious business. As serious as gardening and home improvement on Sundays.

“No, I _didn’t_ ,” he said. But even Seungkwan seemed unsure of himself, in this moment. It was fun to see him stutter. It was like, a whole new side to him; one Hansol had never had the pleasure of experiencing before.

“You did,” Hansol exclaimed, pointing his chopsticks, some grains of rice still stuck to them, in Seungkwan’s direction. “Or, at least, you were _going to._ ”

“Was not,” Seungkwan argued, sipping his juice. He was all frown, with an overemphasised bottom lip. Hansol, he now had a mental list of fifteen different Seungkwan expressions. This one was a common one. The Pout.

“Was too,” Hansol said.

“Was not.”

“I bet you a million won.”

A long pause. And then a slurp. “You don’t even _have_ that much money.”

“I could get it.”

“How?”

“Dunno,” Hansol said. “I guess I could sell my heart.”

“ _W_ _hat?”_ Seungkwan gaped, putting the carton down on the table. “Can you even sell your heart? Can you, Hansol?”

“Of course not. You can’t even live without your heart.”

An even longer pause. “Oh, right. That makes sense.” Then Seungkwan looked up and said, “Would you really sell your heart for me, Hansol?”

Hansol considered this. “My brother once told me you can get a pig heart operated into your body if you need to. Like, heart _transplanshion_?” He frowned, trying to remember the word. “ _Plansashion?_ Anyway,” Seungkwan was still staring at him, open-mouthed, “I think it would be kind of cool to be half pig.”

“Yeah, it would, but do you like, _oink_ instead of talking?” Seungkwan asked.

They were silent. “Dunno. Anyway,” Hansol said again, “the point is: were you going to write a love confession or _not_?” He was impatient. He needed to know. Preferably before giving his own heart away.

Seungkwan pulled out a salmon onigiri from his lunch box. “Fine. I _was_.”

“Really?” Hansol was surprised that he’d admitted it as quickly as he did. “Who for?”

Seungkwan stuck his tongue out, taking a small bite of his mother’s homemade onigiri. “Not telling.”

“Fine,” Hansol said, downing the last centilitres of his drinking yoghurt. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But, you know, Seungkwan, I still won the bet. So you _technically_ owe me a million won.” Technically was one of the words he’d learn from his oldest brother.

“You know _what_ , Sol, I don’t _techni, technici, techknee,_ whatever,” Seungkwan grumbled stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of his torso, “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You owe me, uh, a pig’s heart,” Hansol said. It sounded weirder out loud than it had in his head. In his mind, it had made perfect sense.

“What?” Seungkwan shot him a look. “Owe you a pig’s heart? _You_ owe _me_ one. _Hmfhm._  Anyway–” smirk now appearing on his face– “we never pinkie promised, so it doesn’t really count.”

“So _what_ if we didn’t pinkie promise? Pinkie promising is stupid.” He didn’t think it was stupid. But he also wanted to know who Seungkwan wrote the letter to.

Seungkwan huffed. “Whatever, Hansol. It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you in ten years.”

“ _Ten years?_ We will’ve finished primary school by then.”

“So? I think we’ll know each other even _after_ primary school.”

“Which means I'm stuck with you,” Hansol said. “Possibly for a very long time.”

“And I’m stuck with you,” Seungkwan said.

And they looked into each other’s eyes. Dead on. And they laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and couldn’t stop laughing. Hansol maybe even snorted _Danonino_ yoghurt out of nose, at one point, which made the two of them laugh so much that their stomachs ached, and it ended when Seungkwan panicked because he thought he was having an asthma attack and didn’t have his inhaler on him.

The following day, Hansol spent their one-hour-long post-lunch-playtime indoors, writing a letter using glitter pens and Christmas themed stickers, asking Ms. Larens for help with the spelling. It was barely Christmas related. In fact, it only had a six words and a drawing on.

 

_You owe me a pig’s heart._

_And I owe you one._

 

Next to this, he drew a small picture of himself, with a speech bubble coming out of his own mouth that said: Oink!!!

If Ms. D had wondered what it meant, she hadn’t asked. She had just smiled and patted his hair. That was what he liked about her. She never questioned him, like the other teachers maybe would after they control read the letter. “You’re a good boy. You know that right, Hansol?”

He looked up at her. “How?”

“You’re kind,” she said, “you’re mostly kind to Seungkwan even though he can be a handful.”

“What does ‘be a handful’ mean?”

“Well – that he can sometimes be a lot to take in. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. No, no, not at all. He just, he has a very strong personality.” Hansol didn’t really understand, but he nodded. She smiled. “But don’t tell him I said that, alright?”

Hansol fixed his eyes to the floor. “Well, you see, Ms. D, I’m sort of, um, stuck with him, now.”

She laughed loudly. Almost obnoxiously loud. He didn’t mind. “You’re one of a kind, Hansol.”

That statement confused him more than anything. Obviously he was one of a kind, all humans were different; just as no snowflake on earth was the same. _She_ was the person who’d taught him that. Had she forgotten it? Hansol’s granddad, he forgot things often, but Ms. D was nowhere as near as old as he was. Hansol didn’t really know what to reply, so he just shrugged and looked up again, small smile on his lips. She opened her mouth and looked like she was about to start talking again, before Seungkwan suddenly burst into the room, and she stopped abruptly. Hansol still had the letter he’d made clutched in his palms, and upon seeing Seungkwan storm into the room he quickly hid it behind his back. “ _Han–sol_ ,” Seungkwan singsonged, enunciating the two syllables proudly.

“Yeah?” He gave the letter to Ms. D behind their backs, having to stretch his arm a little to reach up properly, and he didn’t even have to look up to see that she was grinning.

“Why weren’t you outside, Sol?” Seungkwan was complaining, now. “Chris challenged me to a stilts competition. It was _awesome_.”

Hansol racked his brain for excuses. “I couldn’t go out because I, um, lost my gloves.” Hansol was a bad liar, so Seungkwan noticed that his words weren’t completely truthful. Well, obviously he did. Seungkwan noticed everything.

“What? What’s happening?” he said.

“Nothing,” Hansol said.

“Nothing at all,” Ms. D chipped in.

“Okay, fine,” Seungkwan said, because why would a teacher lie to him, anyway? “Just don’t miss out next time because of your missing gloves or, or, ‘cause you want to get to the salmon-pink reading level.”

“I’m _way_ past the salmon-pink level by now,” Hansol scoffed. That was also a lie. He was nowhere near that good nor quick at reading the Magic Key series. Seungkwan noticed, raised a single eyebrow, but didn’t question it. And then that was that.

 

 

The first time Hansol visited Seungkwan’s house was really only thanks to their parents, who had bonded quickly when Seungkwan had visited his house a few weeks previously. It turned out they didn’t live that far away from each other; only a ten minute walk, but Seungkwan's house felt like on a whole different league compared to his. They had a two story tall _villa_. Leading up to the second floor was a spiral, glass staircase. The living room was connected to the kitchen area and dining room – yes, they had a _dining room_ ; a place to eat that wasn’t merely the kitchen – and nearly everything was either white or made out of white marble. There was even an expensive, fancy grand piano by the staircase, looking like it had come straight out of one of those fashion catalogue Hansol’s mother used to read.

Hansol wasn’t picky. He loved his house. It was cozy, it was constantly filled with the scent of washing powder. But you must understand this: Seungkwan’s house was in a league of its own. At the same time as he never wanted to leave, he felt extremely out of place, standing there in unwashed dungarees and unwashed hair and unwashed everything.

Seungkwan’s room, on the other hand, was a completely different story from the rest of the villa. In fact Hansol felt as though he belonged perfectly in there, being the complete mess that it was. There were manga books strewn all over the floor, action figures, an uneaten packet of crisps, dinosaur figures – a hell of a lot of dinosaur figures; Hansol knew that Seungkwan loved them – a t-shirt with a Diplodocus – Seungkwan’s favourite dinosaur, of course – on, Barbie dolls with savagely cut off hair, Nintendo DS games, a pink Nintendo DS Lite, a plastic sword, and not a single sock that matched another in a pile on the floor.

“Wow,” Hansol said.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agreed. “Mum says I should take care of my things better.”

Hansol shrugged. “I don’t mind.” It felt like it was the tenth time he’d shrugged that day. He, he was definitely a shrugger. “I mean, it’s fine.” What else was he supposed to say?

They stood there for a few more moments, until Seungkwan got bored of Hansol inspecting the state of the mess and said, “Wanna go hunting for ladybirds in the garden?” He’d grinned as he said the words. That Seungkwan, he was always enthusiastic. Even about the simplest of things, like hunting for ladybirds.

Hansol wanted to. So they did.

Just like that, Hansol coming around to Seungkwan’s house became an unbreakable habit. After school, they’d either walk back to his house together or go to the park to find stag beetles or dip their feet in the pond or buy ice cream cones. Just the cones, without ice cream. Because Seungkwan was weird like that. Back at his house they would play Twister, give Seungkwan's cousin’s old Barbie’s makeovers, make civilizations out of different Playmobil sets, make pancakes out of Play-Doh, eat real pancakes made by Seungkwan’s mother. It turned out the fancy piano was only for decoration, and he didn’t actually know how to play anything, which led to Hansol spending a whole hour teaching Seungkwan how to play Chopsticks. His mother made them hot chocolate afterwards, encouraging Hansol to play something else for them, to which he’d replied that he wasn’t very good but had still managed to get through a simplified version of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, blushing as Seungkwan’s mother had complimented his playing.

Hansol really liked Seungkwan’s parents. His mother was kind and gentle and was always wearing pearl earrings. And although Hansol rarely saw Seungkwan’s dad, but when he was there he always kissed Seungkwan on the forehead and ruffled Hansol’s hair happily.

This carried on all the way until the summer holidays, and became something he took for granted so simply that when it was taken away he felt like the life was sucked out of him. Sometimes Seungkwan had to do other things, and every Monday Hansol had his piano lessons at home, which meant that Hansol couldn’t go over to Seungkwan’s, and he would walk sulkily home on his own and eat his own dad’s dinner before his tutor arrived at their house.

His parents would exchange a glance at this behaviour. One of those glances where they seemed to talk to each other via their eyes. Hansol wondered if they could read each other’s minds. He really did. And once, he asked just that. “Can you two read each other’s minds?”

They exchanged another glance, smiling faintly. “Yes,” his mum said, trying her best to suppress a giggle. He knew that she was doing that because it was one of the expressions Seungkwan made quite often. And, so, Hansol believed them, because why would they lie?

He was used to having some days on his own, but when summer rolled around it was a different story.

“What?” Hansol wasn’t following what Seungkwan was saying.

Seungkwan smiled. “I’m going away.”

“On a holiday?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Where?”

“London.”

“Where’s that?”

“England. In Europe.”

England. Europe. That was very far away, much further away than he could understand at his age, and Hansol couldn't stand it. They were silent for a few moments.

“Okay,” he said.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Seungkwan said. “Well, I don’t know if that’s true, but Dad always says that before he goes away, and he’s always right.”

“Okay,” Hansol repeated, and shrugged. Their eyes met. He wondered if they would ever be able to read each other’s thoughts like his parents could. Maybe they were half way there already. Maybe, maybe.

It turned out two weeks took longer time than Seungkwan had said it would. In fact, they went so slow, he thought he’d grow a beard like his dad’s. Additionally, Hansol thought he was annoying his family with his boredom, because of this: his brothers, Kangdae and Duho, kept fighting with him even more than they already did, and his parents were mad at him for strange things.

His mum sighed. “ _No_ , Hansol, I _said_ you were only allowed to eat that at three o’clock.”

“But it _is_ three o’clock,” Hansol said, whinge evident in his voice. He pointed at the clock. The hand was pointing at the three.

“No, darling. It’s not three. It’s only quarter past one,” she said, sighing again. His elder brothers, Duho and Kangdae, laughed at him, as he was seven and couldn’t tell the time yet. Hansol often felt bad for mum, birthing three sons. She most likely, after Hansol’s brothers, simply wanted one daughter, a girl with common sense who could scoff at their unnecessary displays of masculinity, putting them in their place. And then she had Hansol. So, that’s what he had to live with even then, young as he was. The fact that he was the weakest link of the family, and the theory that his parents probably hoped for something other than him.

“How was I supposed to know?” he said, grumbling.

Kangdae smirked. “Haven’t you and your _boyfriend_ learnt how to tell the time yet?”

“Well, _no,_ ” Hansol started angrily, before he realised what his brother meant. “I’m, I’m not Seungkwan’s boyfriend.” But then he realised this: in actuality, he had no idea what the definition of the word boyfriend meant, which meant that he had to retract his statement. “Well, he _is_ my friend who is a boy, so he’s _technically_ my boyfriend.” He crossed his arms.

At this point, his brothers were almost crying with laughter. His mum shushed them at the same time as his dad gave them a pointed look. “Oh, _stop_ it, you two, you’re being ridiculous,” she said sternly, in the way only mothers pull off. She turned to Hansol, then, putting a kind face, and said, “Poppit, a boyfriend isn’t just a friend who is a boy. It’s a person you love, and want to be with, and kiss.” Kangdae was, by now, wiping away the tears from his eyes. “Someone you’re romantically interested in.”

Hansol, he was just more confused than he’d ever been. He didn’t understand half of what she was saying. _Romantically interested?_ How did that make any sense? “I don’t get it.”

Duho folded his arms. “Of course you don’t. You’re too young to understand.”

“I’m turning eight in a week,” he countered, copying his oldest brother by also folding his arms.

“It’s fine,” his dad said. “You don't have to understand everything now – you have to save things for when you're older, too.”

“Well, you should learn one thing now,” Kangdae said, “which is that boys,” he bent over to be on Hansol’s height level, jabbing Hansol’s chest with his finger, “aren’t in love with boys.”

Now Hansol was even more perplexed, and both of their parents looked outraged at the words that had been spat out of their middle son’s mouth. “ _Kangdae._ Don’t _say_ things like that,” and his dad said, “We, we certainly did not raise you to think like that.” Their dad was fuming, their mum was shocked. Duho pretended to be just as appalled at his words, but Hansol could see that, under that effigy of fake shock, he secretly agreed with his brother.

“What’s wrong with loving a boy?” Hansol asked. Kangdae and Duho both looked at him.

His mum turned back to him. “Oh, Hansol. There's nothing wrong with a boy loving a boy, even if that’s what some people think.” She directed her next words to him, and him only. “Your brother is a teenager, which means that he isn’t the smartest stage in life. He’s going through a time where his brain doesn’t exactly, perhaps, work properly. He’ll get over it soon enough.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Kangdae protested.

“Be quiet for once, Kangdae,” their dad said. He turned to Hansol’s elder brothers. “And Duho, for God’s sake. You should know better than this.” Kangdae gaped at him, turning to leave, and Hansol wondered how this conversation had escalated from his not being allowed to eat ice cream before three o’clock to Kangdae walking to his room and slamming the door to his room behind him loudly. Duho said, “But, Dad, _I_ didn’t even say anything,” to which their dad gave him a look, and Duho threw one last dagger at Hansol before walking in the other direction, leaving to his room down the corridor to the left, the one next to Hansol’s, banging the door shut twice as loud as Kangdae had.

“Where do you think you two going?” his mum had begun angrily, before she’d trailed off and run a hand through her hair, exasperated. “Where did they even _get_ that from? Do you think it’s their friends?” It was as though she was talking to herself.

“Their classmates have a huge influence on them,” his dad agreed, disappointed. “I can’t believe it, though. I mean. That a _thirteen and sixteen year old_ haven’t realised that different people are different.” The two of them were speaking in hushed, irritated whispers.

“We’ll have a word with them later,” his mum said.

“Mhm,” his dad agreed. He nodded. “You don’t think it’s the people they talk to online?” They sat there, talking for a while, and the general conversation was about the facts that they 1) they felt as though they hadn’t raised Kangdae and Duho properly, and 2) they thought there was such a huge difference between nature and nurture nowadays, and that maybe all of their sons’ friends weren’t the best influences for them to be around.

After a while, Hansol reckoned that they had completely forgotten that Hansol was sitting next to them by the kitchen table.

“Okay,” he said, eventually, shrugging. “I don’t think I want to be a teenager.”

His parents turned to look at him, and after they’d shared one of their looks his dad smiled, a genuine smile, with the crinkles at his eyes appearing again. “It’s okay, Sol. Just enjoy being almost-eight. Don’t listen to your brothers. Don’t worry.” He paused, then repeated himself, “Don’t worry. We’re going to talk to them.”

Seungkwan returned home from London the day after the whole ice cream debacle. When the two of them had met again, they stood staring at each other, not really knowing what to do. His parents looked angry, for some reason, and he decided to shrink away from them. Then Seungkwan pulled him into a hug. A bone-crushing one. Truth being told, Hansol had rarely been hugged by people his own size, and he didn’t know where to put his hands or arms or head or what to do. He simply stood there and breathed in Seungkwan’s scent. It was mostly the strong scent of Seungkwan’s mother’s perfume. Chanel no. 5.

 

 

 

_2_

A few weeks into junior high school, and Hansol wanted out.

Lame as it was, there was only one thing that had never changed over the past years. And that was Seungkwan. But suddenly, as if a inexorable, overnight phenomenon, he had to share his best friend with the entire school. Every girl – perhaps even some boys – in year seven had a crush on Seungkwan. And this was, to say the least, the worst thing that had happened in the span of Hansol’s short life.

Seungkwan got used to the attention quickly, obviously, accepting love letters and chocolates and smiling at everyone, hitting them with golden smiles, softened, buttery eyes, as he’d been doing to Hansol for years. Of _course_ Seungkwan would be popular. He had a shining personality – as Hansol’s mother always used to say, when they would watch Seungkwan’s performances at their primary school’s talent shows; usually his own renditions of Céline Dion songs, ones that would make the audience of siblings and parents and grandparents smile, close their eyes in peace – and Hansol, he couldn’t stand it. He just couldn’t stand it. There was no other way to describe it. Instead of going stag beetle hunting with him after school, Seungkwan went to get crêpes with his admirers, and the worst part of it all was this: he always invited Hansol along. And he was completely oblivious to the questioning looks on the girls’ faces.

“This is my best, best, _bestest_ friend, Hansol,” he would say, fondly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Shut up, Kwan,” Hansol would say, then, and the girl would look at them almost as if she were trying to figure out who was going on a date with who. There was always a small, toxic slither inside of Hansol that would be happy to have Seungkwan’s, and _only_ his, full attention. Another larger, more sensible part of him told him off for being selfish. After all, they weren’t seven years old anymore, and he had to be the better person. Yeah – it felt like he always had to be the better person. Better than his older brothers, better than his classmates, better than himself.

If he continued living like this, his face would turn permanently green.

Seungkwan had been by his side for six years straight. It wasn’t really strange that he was envious, thinking back on it. They’d been there for each other, making bad puns, playfully arguing and calling each other out and laughing and never getting homework done. Now, because Seungkwan had turned pretty over the summer – he had _always_ been pretty, Hansol would often think to himself – everyone wanted to ruin Hansol’s life. _Their lives._ Because they’d been together so long, it felt as though they were living one life, together, instead of two separate ones. Obviously, this wasn’t a healthy way to think, and Hansol _knew_ that, but couldn’t undo the way his brain thought of it.

One evening, when his family was eating dinner together by their wooden table in their kitchen, he genuinely was contemplating this: inventing a time machine. Not to go back in time. No, no. He wouldn’t want to go back to the 70s, or the 80s, as many people would, with Patrick Fernandez’ _Born To Be Alive_ and ol’ Patrick’s suitcase and guitar. Who would want to go _back_ in time? His machine would take him to the future. To a dystopian universe, travelling between space, time, and 4D – the two of them had recently seen Interstellar together, Seungkwan’s mother had paid for their cinema tickets – away from Boo Seungkwan and his new gaggle of admirers, and halfway through conjuring this fantasy of his, his parents shared a worried Parent-Look. That’s what he and Seungkwan had christened it years ago. The Parent-Look. Seungkwan. Shit. _Shit._ Why could Seungkwan never leave his head?

“You’ve barely touched your soup in ten minutes,” his mum said, watching Hansol stir his spoon around his bowl of homemade Gazpacho and garlic croutons. A pause, and then: “Are you alright, Hansol?”

“I’m fine,” he said, sighing. “I had a big lunch.” Another Parent-Look was shared. Maybe this was a new record for amount of Parent-Looks in under 30 seconds. Maybe that’s the greatest achievement Hansol would ever complete in his life.

Duho slurped his soup in an annoying manner. “Let the boy be, Mum. Junior high is _so_ difficult,” he said, voice pouring sarcasm. The worst thing about having older siblings is that they don’t really remember that they had also been the same age as you once were, too. Or, perhaps they do remember, but they don’t like to or feel as though they want to remember it.

“It’s probably love issues,” Kangdae said. “Troubles in Seungkwan Paradise.”

And here was another thing: siblings, especially Hansol’s brothers, never live you down for things that happened _years_ ago. Like, _‘So, he’s_ technically _my boyfriend’._ “Give it a rest,” he said, voice barely a mumble. Sometimes, he felt too tired to argue.

“So, I’m right?” Kangdae asked.

“I said give it a _rest,_ ” Hansol said, putting his spoon down next to his bowl. It turns out he did it with more force than he expected, because it emitted a loud noise and a splatter of soup from the spoon found its way across the small table.

“Sheesh,” Kangdae said, raising his hands in defence, and their dad gives him a look. Hansol could predict the future, and the future was this: Kangdae getting all angry, Duho running to agree with him instead of Hansol, their parents arguing back, one of them, probably Kangdae, accusing them of always being on Hansol’s side, and Hansol sitting there, quiet. So, instead of having to force himself to get through a dinner like this, Hansol got up and stormed out of the kitchen. Yeah. It was pretty dramatic. Not something he’d usually do. But he was tired. He was tired, he was tired. And he didn’t need to even be in the same room as them to know his mother and father were sharing a Parent-Look.

He flopped down on his bed and looked up at the ceiling. There were magic stars covering nearly every square centimetre of it. They were what Seungkwan got him every year on his birthday. Seungkwan, again. _Shit!_ Hansol wanted to scream until the windows broke, until Seungkwan, a couple of blocks away from him could hear his yelling, because everything in his room reminded him of Seungkwan. _Everything_ in general reminded him of Seungkwan. He lay down and threw his head into his pillow, yelling until Seungkwan could hear all the way from the park, he yelled until every book was thrown of his bookcase, until every last pavement rose from the ground and everyone on them slid off, dropping into the abyss that he’d created. Well, at least that’s what he did in his head. In reality he buried his face and tried to hold back tears. He’d been so stressed that he hadn’t had time to cry, and since everything that been building up inside of him, trying to repress it didn’t really work out, and he found himself creating an ocean by simply lying in his bed.

His parents came in, then, he heard it from the way the door creaked open almost silently. His mum sat down on the corner of his bed, he felt it from the way there was a shift in the mattress’ weight, and his dad probably stood beside her, his eyebrows scrunched together.

He didn’t look up.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” his mum asked, putting on her soft voice.

“Nothing,” he grumbled. It was a lie. Seungkwan would’ve noticed if he were there. Obviously.

But she was his mother, and she’d raised him, so she, of course, noticed too. “I know growing up is tough, because things keep changing and your _body_ is changing,” she started, to which he protested with a, “Mum, stop,” and she continued with, “I’m just saying. Hansol, c’mon, look at us. Talk to us,” to which he turned around, his face still slightly damp from tears, and said, “What?”

And they both looked at him with these big, pitying eyes. He knew they didn’t want to look at him like that, but they did. He hated that. “Hansol, we won’t be able to help you if you don't tell us what's going on in your life,” she said. “I'll ask again. What’s wrong?”

But he didn’t want to talk about it, at the same time as he did want to talk about. He just didn’t know how to express himself. And he knew that he was letting his parents down by not telling them, because he was sad, and most parents always want to help you when you’re sad, but he didn’t know how to tell them that he had no idea why he was crying. He really thought he was just tired. He couldn’t find the time to be with Seungkwan, and he had to study constantly, and junior high was pretty fucking shit so far.

Eventually, they left him alone, just after his dad said something along the lines of, “Hansol, working things out by talking isn’t always as difficult as you imagine. But, be patient. Something that is bent in its own time will always, eventually, become crooked.”

His dad, he was always saying one-liners like that. Usually, ones Hansol didn’t understand.

The next morning, before their maths lesson at quarter past eight started, Hansol walked up to Seungkwan, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out into the corridor. A few people in classroom turned to look at them curiously, but then they went back to their own conversations or last minute homeworking-doing. Hansol didn’t care.

“Hansol? What is it?” Hansol loved the way he said his name. He always had.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Hansol started. “It’s just that.”

“What?”

“I,” Hansol thought and thought and couldn’t think anymore. _But, be patient._ There was no point in expressing his true feelings that were these: please, spend more time with me again. He’d have to come up with a proposal himself. “I don’t know. Do you, uh, wanna watch _E.T._ at your house after school today? Or, yeah, something.”

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, his mouth forming the perfect ‘o’ shape. His plump, plump lips. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Hansol nodded. “D’you want to?”

“Sure,” Seungkwan said. He smiled. And, if this were a YA novel, it would be described as ‘a smile which could blind a thousand men’, because that’s really what it was, that’s really, really, really what it was. “Why?”

Hansol shrugged. As per usual. “You ask me, idiot.”

Seungkwan pouted. “Rude.” And that was, well, that was how their friendship worked.

 

 

Another two years of the worst period in his life passed, faster than ever, before another huge disaster struck Hansol again. And it wasn’t simply the fact that his limbs hurt all of the time, that his voice cracked every few sentences, that he kept getting weird, hot emotions and he hated it and he hated the way his body felt and reacted to certain things and how he, most of all, hated growing up. Seungkwan seemed to be fine; a single pimple never daring creep its way onto his flushed skin, his hair staying perfectly neat every day.

Hansol had managed to see Seungkwan kiss girls playing Spin the Bottle, he’d even kissed a few of them himself, and had managed to get used to him hanging out with other people. And he’d never let his neither his embarrassing nor bottled-up feelings get too out of hand. He had simply gone and mastered the art of ignoring the green, green, hideously green envy that seeped through his body and into his his veins, ignoring the blood that rushed to various parts of his body when somebody, or even Seungkwan, nowadays, got too close.

Then something happened that swallowed him whole.

“I have a girlfriend,” Seungkwan said. He was grinning as he uttered the words. Hansol could sense this in the way he spoke, even though the two of them had their eyes closed in that very moment. They were sitting underneath one of the two huge trees in Seungkwan’s garden, catching a few last sun rays before autumn arrived.

“Oh, really?” He tried to sound uninterested, but it came out forced and surprised and stressed. Seungkwan had to notice. He had to. He had to. He had to.

Seungkwan didn’t notice.

“Her name’s Azure,” Seungkwan said. “She’s half British.”

Now, Hansol opened his eyes, and turned to see that Seungkwan had too. He could might as well have told Hansol he’d murdered his parents, and he was still showing all his teeth in a happy manner.

“Please, shut up, shut up, _shut up_ , shit, I do not want this to happen,” Hansol pleaded, but when he thought that was what he was saying, all he really said was, “That’s, um, that’s nice.”

“What is it?” Seungkwan asked, and Hansol could tell that wasn’t the reaction he was supposed to have. “Aren’t you happy for your best friend?”

Hansol shrugged, frowning. “I am.”

“Well, you don’t look like it.” He crossed his arms.

“Whatever,” Hansol murmured, and the world was really ending this time, yet he was the sole person who could see the damage.

“Maybe we can hang out, the three of us, sometime,” Seungkwan suggested.

They were both 14 at the time, and Seungkwan was as clueless as he was as an almost-eight year old. Something inside Hansol snapped. “Fucking _hell,_ Seungkwan, of course I’m not going to go and hang out with you and your girlfriend with her English name,” he shouted, so loudly that the branches from the tree cracked and fell down of them, subsequently breaking Hansol’s neck and legs. Although, he didn’t shout that. Because he had, as aforementioned, learn how to hide his emotions in a perfect manner. So, instead of letting the ground beneath them open up and kill the two of them on impact, he said, “Sure,” shrugging again.

“She’s really pretty,” Seungkwan said.

“Okay,” Hansol said, wishing his mouth would zip shut.

“Fine,” Seungkwan said, glaring at the ground.

“What?” Hansol said. He wanted to say, preferably with an angry tone: Sorry I’m not jumping with joy! I’m _sorry!,_ but he decided against it.

“Okay, _okay,_ I get it,” he said, huffing in a Seungkwan-esque way. “You’re jealous, or, or, what _ever_.”

“Jealous?” Hansol’s mind shut down. Like, it short-circuited, and everything around him suddenly felt as though it was a simulation that had stopped working and nothing was going the way the creators had planned, and the tree above them continued to sway gently in the light breeze. “Why would I be _jealous_? Seungkwan, I have other friends apart from you.”

Seungkwan blinked. “I didn’t mean it about me. I meant because _you_ don’t have a girlfriend.”

The simulation they were in malfunctioned once again, ERROR!, ERROR!, ERROR!, ERROR 404!, and Hansol looked away because he didn’t know what to say and because he felt like he had lost the ability to speak at all, but Seungkwan moved so he was now sitting in front of Hansol. He looked at Hansol with these huge, solemn eyes, a tinge of semblance to his mother’s when he’d cried and she’d asked what had happened, his long eyelashes flickering up and down. Bat bat bat bat bat. Wrapping themselves around Hansol's throat and choking him. “Hansol, you’re jealous because you don’t have me.” He stopped. “To yourself. Or, something like that.”

Hansol gulped. “That’s kind of narcissistic. You know, assuming that.” What exactly was he supposed to say, if not that? _Bingo! You win! Congrats that you figured it out after two whole years! Merry Christmas! Happy fucking new year!_

“Hansol, stop it,” Seungkwan said, and he had the nerve to smile as he saw Hansol’s expression and realised, silently, that his words had been correct. And then he said this: “You know I love you the most.”

“Sure,” Hansol whispered, “I know that,” and he was shocked that he even managed to say a single word, shocked that he still was alive after having a brain aneurysm and having the weight of the earth crushing him down, like a mortar and pestle, to a pulp the size of a grain of sand. And then their faces were really close. He leaned back, feeling the back of his head hit the bark of the tree.

 

 

Hansol wanted to hate Azure. Believe this. He truly did. He wanted to hate her Hollister jumpers, her lip gloss, and her entire being. But when she was with Seungkwan, he was always grinning. And that meant this: he couldn’t hate her. Because if he did, he really would’ve been the shittiest best friend to have ever friended in the history of best friendships.

One day, a few weeks into her and Seungkwan’s relationship, the three of them were sitting in the park drinking milkshakes. Azure turned to Hansol and asked, smiling, “So, how long have you two known each other?” Her teeth, they were whiter than the painted walls in Seungkwan’s house. It wasn’t healthy, obviously, she must’ve done something to them. Not that Hansol cared about shit like that. But since it was Azure, he did.

“Since year one,” Hansol said, at the same time as Seungkwan said, “Basically forever.”

She giggled, as if it were a joke, twirling a strand of hair around her perfectly manicured finger. “That’s really sweet.”

“I’m stuck with him, now, I guess,” Hansol said, and Seungkwan looked as though he was about to say something, then changed his mind and shut his mouth.

“How can you put up with someone for so long?” Azure said. It sounded as though she was thinking about it, and had accidentally wondered aloud. Seungkwan and Hansol shared a look – he had, of course, figured out that his parents couldn’t read each other minds ages ago, but was still convinced he and Seungkwan almost could.

“You don’t,” said Hansol. She laughed. It pissed him off for no real reason.

“Rude,” said Seungkwan. He pouted. For some reason, he hated Seungkwan in that moment, for pouting, and for him sitting next to Azure looking them on.

“Aw,” said Azure, taking a sip of her strawberry milkshake.

Hansol felt a clenching in his chest; an inexplicable feeling of chagrin. Why was he even _there_? It was as though Azure had stepped into his wardrobe and was wearing all of his clothes. Like she’d barged in on an inside joke. Seungkwan didn't seem to notice, for once in their lives. “There’s nothing cute about bullying, Az,” he said, smiling still, poking her cheek.

 _Az._ A nickname. A fucking _nickname_.

For some reason, he hated Seungkwan in that moment. For his usual pouting, for him sitting next to Azure looking them on, and for inviting Hansol along despite him being able to read Hansol’s mind.

Hansol’s body rotted. He checked the watch on his wrist and said, “I think I should go home now. I have things to do.”

Seungkwan raised a single eyebrow. “What?”

Hansol said, “Biology homework.”

But, to Seungkwan, Hansol was an open door. He knew it was a lie. Yet he didn't question it. “Okay, see you tomorrow,” he said, and gave Hansol a warm smile.

“Mhm,” he said, trying to avoid Seungkwan’s persistent gaze. Okay. He didn’t really hate Seungkwan. He thought he had, for a few seconds there. But, instead, it was more like he hated himself, and he hated the fact that he was a teenaged boy who couldn’t stop replying on his best friend, and he hated that he blamed said friend for everything that went wrong in his life, when it clearly wasn’t his fault.

“See you,” Azure said, cheerfully, and Hansol nodded at her in recognition before walking off.

 

 

Hansol never joined them on dates again.

 

 

A year passed quickly, the months flowing together in a heap of seasons, junior high was almost over, and Hansol’s family were eating dinner when the phone rang. Loudly. No one really calls the home telephone anymore, as everyone has their own mobiles instead of using landlines, so it came as a surprise for them. His mum answered. “Choi residence,” she said, putting on one of those polite voices you subconsciously make when answering the phone. “Seungkwan?”

Hansol’s ears pricked up. “Yes, he’s here.” Pause. “Are you alright, darling? Are you parents there?”

He was on his feet before she could say another word. “Seungkwan?” His brother shared a look. He ignored them.

“ _Hansol_ ,” Seungkwan greeted him. “ _We broke up. Me and Azure. Just now._ ”

“What?” Hansol said. “Oh. Oh. I’m sorry, Kwan.”

“ _It’s not your fault_.”

He paused. “Should I come over?”

“ _No. I look terrible_.”

“Seungkwan. I don’t care about that.”

“ _Hansol._ ”

“Are you okay?” he asked, gruffly.

“ _Yeah,”_ Seungkwan said, and Hansol could sense the fake liveliness even through the shitty reception and muffled voice. “ _It was for the best, really_.”

“It’s okay to be sad, Seungkwan.”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Seungkwan said, and Hansol wished he was there, hugging him tight. “ _I know. I just, um, wanted you to know._ ”

They were quiet. “ _Can I tell you something_?”

“Sure,” Hansol said.

Seungkwan took a deep breath, hesitated, then breathed out again loudly. “ _Actually, never mind_.”

“Okay.”

Another pause.

 _“Hansol,”_ Seungkwan said, voice shaking slightly, _“I know it’s late, but can you come over?”_

“I’ll be right there,” Hansol said, putting the phone down, and, of course, even though it was eight o’clock at night and their final exams were tomorrow, he threw his shoes on, shouted something to his family, and ran to get his bicycle as quickly as he could.

That summer, Hansol and Seungkwan were together almost every day of the holiday. It reminded him of old times, except they didn’t go hunting for dinosaur bones, or play with dolls. They ate watermelon by the sea and went into the city on buses so hot that, if you put your palms against them, the walls were damp, and played basketball with some other teenagers in the neighbourhood. Some days, they just sat inside all day, resting on Seungkwan’s sofa with the air conditioner on full blast, drinking cold drinks straight out of the fridge and fanning themselves with everything they could find in the house.

It was an ideal way to spend the scarce weeks of freedom they had. Sometimes, they would go outside to sit in the sun, and the two of them would fall asleep, side by side, and only wake up when Seungkwan’s mother opened the back door to the garden and nudged their shoulders gently. And other days, it rained all day, as the days of rainy season begun, and on those days they would watch reruns of old Disney films – _Mulan_ was Hansol’s favourite, Seungkwan preferred _Alice in Wonderland_ – or Hansol would play the piano, he’d grown better after years of practice, and Seungkwan would gently hum along to the piece he played since he started to learn the melodies by heart.

“Hey, Hansol?” Seungkwan said, one day, as they were sitting in the backyard, apricating.

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to the same high school, right?”

Hansol laughed. “Are we really doing this again?”

“ _Really_ , though.”

“Of _course,_  you fucking dumbass.”

“Wanker.” Seungkwan folded his legs.

“I know, I know.”

“Hey, Hansol?”

“What?”

“You know when me and Azure broke up?”

“It wasn’t _that_ long ago.”

“Shut up. I’m getting there.”

Hansol looked over at Seungkwan. Their eyes met. “Yeah, I remember.”

“When I called you after, remember what I said?”

“No, not really.”

Seungkwan played with the hem of his t-shirt. He did that when he was nervous. Why was he nervous? “Well, I was going to say something, but I didn't.”

“Okay.”

“That’s when you’re meant to ask me what it was, Hansol. Hello?”

Hansol rolled his eyes, and his body was breaking out in cold sweat. “Sorry, I didn't get the script.”

“Anyway,” Seungkwan said, flattening one of the cowlicks at the back of his head. Another one of his nervous habits. “What I was going to say was, uh.”

Hansol was quiet.

“C’mon, Sol, this is _dramatic_. You can’t just sit there all silent and just shrug as you always do.”

“ _What?_ You were about to say something.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Well?”

Pause. “You can’t hate me.”

 _Thump thump thump thump thump._ “You're so dense, Seungkwan. I’d never _hate_ you.” Well. There was that one, delusional time. But he didn’t need to know about that.

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Hansol.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Okay, well, here’s the thing.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s _so_ embarrassing.”

“I’m not forcing you to say it.”

“Well, okay, well, I’m not exactly sure, but I’ve been looking online and like–” Seungkwan covered his face with his hands– “I think, I think I'm bi. Like, I’m bisexual. Like, I like girls and, and also guys. I mean, romantically.”

“Okay,” Hansol said, because he thought that maybe Seungkwan thought that he didn’t know what bisexual was, but he did know. And then he did shrug, after all.

‘“Okay?’” Seungkwan took his hands off his face and looked back at him, eyes wide. “Is that all?”

“What else is there to say?” Hansol said. _I love you and I love you and I love you and I love you and I love you and I love you and I love you._

They were quiet. “Thank you, Hansol.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Thanks. I don't know. Thanks for not hating me.”

“You think I’d hate you because you like both boys and girls?”

“No, not _you,_  I guess, but, uh, people, I guess, don’t think it’s okay.”

“Who cares about people?” He thought about his elder brothers laughing at him. He thought about the boys in his class, saying the word ‘gay’ as it would poison them. He thought about the articles he read, about parents who kicked out their children, he thought about every teen film he’d watched, where the jock would beat up the gay kid in the changing rooms, calling him names and leaving him there, alone and crying and shivering. “Your sexuality, and, um, stuff, that’s your own business.” And he’s serious as he says his next words. “I’ll beat up anyone who disagrees. I swear. I’ll beat them up.”

“Hm. You say some smart things sometimes, Hansol.”

“Only sometimes?” he said. “Harsh.”

Seungkwan smiled. “I thought it was pretty generous.”

Hansol looked over at him. A light blush was blossoming over his skin, the skin that was kissed by the sun from being outdoors as much as they were that summer. “Are you gonna tell your parents?”

“Eventually, probably, maybe, I suppose. I wish I didn’t _have_ to though.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It would be nice to just like, uh, say, ‘I have a boyfriend’, and they’d be like, ‘Okay, Seungkwan, dinner’s at seven’, like I probably could with a girl. Like I did with, um, Azure.”

“Yeah.”

“I just, I don’t know how my parents would react. When I think about it, I cringe.”

“Have you told anyone else?”

“Nope,” he said. “Only you.”

“Okay.” He imagined walking up to Seungkwan’s parents and saying: _That's right. Your son trusts me more than he trusts you. His own parents!_ But he liked Seungkwan’s mother and father. And he supposed it was more a question of comfort than of trust.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Seungkwan said, a faint smile on his lips. “I shouldn’t even have to ‘come out’, or whatever.”

“I know.” Hansol picked at his fingernails. “I’m glad you told me. I mean, not that you had to. If you didn’t want to. Like, you know. You can do whatever. It shouldn’t even have to be a big deal and stuff…” he trailed off, and when he looked up and saw Seungkwan, wearing an expression that showed that he was trying his best to not laugh. “Stop that, Kwan. I’m _trying._ Okay?”

“I know,” Seungkwan said, giggling. “Thanks.”

“Whatever, asshole.”

Then they were quiet again.

“I have to tell them, I guess.”

“No, not really.”

“But,”

“But, you can cross that bridge when you get to it.” That really, really sounded like something this dad would say. Maybe they were more similar than he thought.

“Cli–ché,” Seungkwan singsonged.

“Just shut up and enjoy the moment,” said Hansol.

 

 

 

_3_

On the first day of high school, Seungkwan and Hansol accidentally befriended two boys. Which, mind you, doesn’t happen very often.

Hansol didn’t even realise that one of them was talking to him. “This uniform is kind of cool, right?” he had said, loosening his tie in an attempt to be slick.

“Yeah, I guess,” Hansol had shrugged, virtually uninterested. 

“My junior high school uniform was ugly as shit,” the boy continued. “I mean, purple and yellow? Who thought of that combination. I’m happy about the red here.” 

“Mhm,” Hansol said. “Revolution red.”

This made the boy laugh. “Yeah. Revolution red.” 

That was when Seungkwan had chipped in. “I also really like the colours, actually.”

“Yeah,” the boy said, nodding thoughtfully. He smiles. “Oh, yeah, anyway, I’m Soonyoung, but most people just say Soon. Or, at least _he_ does.”

The other guy sat next to him, previously wearing only a phlegmatic facial expression, and was taller than Soonyoung with a wider build, smiled warmly. “Kim Mingyu.”

“I’m Seungkwan,” Seungkwan grinned widely. “And this here is Hansol, my _bestest_ –”

“Shut _up_ ,” Hansol whispered, elbowing Seungkwan in the ribs. Neither Soonyoung nor Mingyu noticed, or cared, about this. “We’re in high school now.” He continued, raising his voice, “I’m Hansol.”

“You’re _cruel_ ,” Seungkwan said, aiming his words towards Hansol.

Mingyu and Soonyoung laughed at them. It didn’t feel forced or awkward as it had with Azure. It felt natural, and Hansol cracked a tiny smile despite himself. “I feel like you two have known each other a very long time,” Mingyu said, and he glanced down at Soonyoung for a split second.

“Yeah, too fucking long,” Hansol said. Seungkwan punched his shoulder.

“Let’s see,” Soonyoung said, smirking. “How about I test you on how well you know each other?” He appeared to be deep in thought for a few moments, and Hansol and Seungkwan shared a look. “How about this: what’s the other’s favourite fruit?”

“That’s _easy_ , Soon,” Mingyu said.

“I couldn’t think of anything,” Soonyoung said, huffing.

“Bananas,” Hansol said. “But he only ever eats them unless they’re cut up and served with cream. Says they make him sick otherwise. He’s weird like that.”

“Dragonfruit,” Seungkwan said. “But he only ever eats them like, once a year, because otherwise he says he’ll get ‘too used'’ to them. He’s weird like that.”

“Now _I’m_ the weird one?” Hansol flicked Seungkwan’s nose comfortably. “I’m not the one who buys ice cream cones without the ice cream.”

Mingyu and Soonyoung laughed again. “Why?” Mingyu asked.

“The cones are the best part of the ice cream cones,” Seungkwan explained, “and no one ever appreciates them.” 

“I actually prefer ice cream in a cup, actually,” Soonyoung said.

“We’re not friends anymore,” Seungkwan said blatantly. Hansol kicked him under the table.

“We've known each other for like, two minutes,” Mingyu said. 

Later that day, the four of them went to the park and scraped together money for ice cream, celebrating and commiserating the fact that they now were high school students. Mingyu and Soonyoung shared a cup with two scoops. Seungkwan and Hansol got separate cones without ice cream, because that was the way it had always been. 

“You can also eat just cones all year round,” Seungkwan argued. “Unlike ice cream.” They were sitting by the pond, shoes off and dipping their feet in the lukewarm water. 

Hansol looked at him. “Give it a rest.” 

“I eat ice cream all year round,” Soonyoung said, “you’re just weak.” But he was smiling, and Hansol was smiling, and Mingyu was smiling.

Seungkwan gasped. “You did _not_ just say that.” 

“The cones aren’t _that_ nice,” Mingyu said. 

“I thought we’d finally made some new friends,” Seungkwan said, pretending to sniffle a little. “But you turned out to be clones of Hansol. You know what? That’s saddening.” 

Soonyoung grinned. “We’ll maybe get over being called that.”

“Someday, Seungkwan,” Mingyu said, dramatically putting the back of his hand against his forehead.

“Get used to it,” Hansol said, smiling.

“Get used to being bullies,” Seungkwan said, but he was also smiling, then. “ _Jok–ing_ , Hansol. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what? Like I’m ready to throw you into the pond?” Hansol asked. “It’s turning out to look like a nice Monday activity.”

“See?” Seungkwan pouted. “Bullying.”

Hansol put his hands on his shoulders, jerking him forward and backward quickly. Seungkwan yelped. “Tell your mother I saved your life.” Hansol grinned. Seungkwan swatted him away, rolling his eyes, his hand lingering on Hansol's chest.

In that moment, Hansol forgot that Mingyu and Soonyoung were there too, that they were new first year high school boys, that they were in a public park, that they were breaking the rules by having their feet in the murky water. Seungkwan’s tanned skin was glowing brighter than ever, and he was beaming, showing off every tooth, a small dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. His abnormally long eyelashes were throwing themselves up and down, batbatbatbatbat. The way it had always been.

But _no._ Something was different. Something was different. Not Azure-different, but something was _there._ A tug at Hansol’s heart. An itch in his palms.A scrape at his throat. A grasshopper lodged deep in his chest, desperately jumping around, trying to get out by clinging itself to his ribs. Every vein in his body zipped open slowly, blood pouring out, and the exact place Seungkwan had his hand pressed against burned intensely. Hansol blushed. A real blush. A hotness spread to his cheeks, lighting a fire inside his body. Seungkwan looked up at at him then, straight in the eye, his eyebrows raising slowly, his lips forming an ‘o’ shape. He didn’t say anything.

There and then, Hansol really wanted to kiss Seungkwan.

“God, my dad used to do that to me all the time,” Soonyoung said, and Seungkwan turned his attention to him, and there was only a lambent ember left inside of Hansol as he snapped out of it. “And once he did it on like, on this cliff that was thirty metres in the air. I thought I’d die. I swear I did.”

He had wanted to kiss Seungkwan. He _had._

Seungkwan looked at him questioningly. “Hansol? What’s wrong?”

Hansol said, “Nothing. What’s wrong with _you_ , Kwan?”

“Shut up. I’m serious.” 

“I’m just, um, kind of tired,” Hansol said, “I guess,” to which Mingyu nodded and said, “I feel you. Waking up early in the morning again is a pain in the _ass._ ” 

“Huh,” Seungkwan said, and for the rest of the time they were together, until they first said goodbye to Soonyoung and Mingyu who lived in a different part of the neighbourhood, then separated and walked down opposite ways by the train tracks, Hansol felt his palms sweating in dread. He’d never before been so panicked about being around Seungkwan.

That night, Hansol had a sex dream. 

He was hardly a child anymore – obviously he’d had them before. He masturbated often, he watched porn from time to time. When he woke up, he saw that it was quarter past five in the morning, the sun was on the verge of rising, and he could feel that he was still sweaty and still rock-hard from the dream, and he muttered under his breath, “Okay, okay.” Hansol couldn’t really remember much from it – just that there was high-pitched moaning, breasts, and there was definitely, definitely, definitely a woman involved. What was that all about? Was he bisexual, like Seungkwan, or was his brain confusing the fondness for his best friend for romantic feelings? Or was his brain merely fantasising about a woman he’d watched in a porno, online, somewhere, anywhere?

He thought again. By the pond, he had not felt confused. He had felt sure of his feelings. As sure as he ever had. 

God, how he _hated_ hormones. His hard-on was growing more uncomfortable by every second passing. Overthinking ruined the excitement he’d felt in the dream. He stood up, opened the door quietly, walked down the corridor quietly, and completed what he had to do in the toilet, as quietly as he could. Upon returning back to his bedroom, he scanned his surroundings and realised that there was a note resting on his bedside table. In his mother’s handwriting read two short sentences: _You were asleep straight after dinner – you looked so serene that we didn’t want to wake you up for revision. Get yourself something to eat if you wake up early. Mum x_

Hansol sighed tiredly. He didn’t really have an appetite. Everything tasted like cardboard in the morning, anyway, and he wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t even in the mood for trying to sleep for another two hours. He knew that it would be pointless to every try. Instead, he did what any other teenager in the 21st century would do: Hansol resorted to the internet for help. It’s not a very smart to do this, in actuality, since Google likes to tell you that you have Stage 4 Terminal Brain Cancer no matter which symptoms you type into the search engine, but it’s something today’s youth is sure will lead them through life’s many questions and wonderings, devoid of any issues. Unsurprisingly enough, after a quick search and a few scrolls down, there turned out to be quite a handful of people who had intrusive, homosexual thoughts about kissing their best friends.

Anon wrote: _I keep having thoughts about kissing one of my friends. But I'm a guy. And so’s he. I dunno what to do!! Do I even have a crush? Pleaseeeee help_

Posted 17/04-2013

 

Hansol scrolled through the comments on the guy’s post.

 

S1lLENCEISGOLD answered: _i don't think it necessarily means you have a crush on him or means youre gay or whatever. it could just be that you are desperate for love and want to be in a relationship and it could be anyone. Idrk tho_

Posted 18/04-2013

 

plants_r_friends answered: _follow UR heart! :):)_

Posted 18/04-2013

 

He rolled his eyes, and said out loud, “Thank you, ‘plants are friends’. I’m fucking _saved._ ”

 

tsutsun__98 answered: _Think about it......... Would you really like to kiss this guy? Would you enjoy it?? Ask some other friends for advice?_

Posted 20/04-2013

 

Other friends? Fuck that. He was on his own with this. Hansol rolled his eyes for the second time, and continued scrolling.

 

EnnTon answered: _face it man. YOU’RE GAY_

Posted 21/04-2013

xx_Rikax answered EnnTonn: _It doesnt rly mean hes gay he cld just be confused o_o_

Posted 22/04-2013

EnnTonn answered xx_Rikax: _you sound kinda homophobic_

Posted 22/04-2013

xx_Rikax answered EnnTonn: _Im not homophobic? my O.T.P (one true pair) is two men (Sherlock Holmes and Watson) (from series sherlock obviously :p). Im just saying you can confuse platonic love w romantic, duh ^^ no need to be aggressive =)_

Posted 22/04-2013

EnnTonn answered xx_Rikax: _K..._

Posted 23/04-2013

 

After reading this 2013-esque exchange between _EnnTonn_ and _xx_Rikax_ , Hansol gave up, closed his laptop and stared out of the window, watching the sun rise far above their neighbour’s house. 

And every morning after that, Hansol repeated to himself in his head: _I do not have a crush on Seungkwan._

When Seungkwan was bounding up to him in the classroom then smiling and smiling and smiling and then pouting and fluttering his eyelashes and making asking questions to their maths teacher and writing notes and doodling dinosaurs – yes, he still did that – and paying attention in the subjects he liked and not really paying attention in the ones he disliked more and staring into space and stretching and smiling and complaining and receiving love letters from girls in junior high and smiling and fluttering his eyelashes some more, Hansol repeated it to himself in his head.

When Seungkwan lightly touched his calf or slung an arm around his shoulder or helped him unbutton the back of his shirt before P.E. or grabbed his bicep in awe, Hansol ignored every drop of blood in his body vibrating, and repeated it to himself in his head.

When Seungkwan existed and smiled, again, again and over again _._

Whenever intrusive thoughts started entering his head again, Hansol worked out. He dusted off his dad’s old training equipment in their cellar, ran around the block, did push ups over and over and over again, or anything else that put him through physical pain afterwards, making his body ache in places he didn’t know could ache. It helped him concentrate on school work better, too, apparently; his mother had read and told him about an article on a study about physical activity helping your attention span.

Seungkwan confronted him one day. “Hey, Han, have you been working out lately?” It was already November by then, and Hansol almost laughed.

“What is that? Are you trying out shitty pick up lines on me?” They were walking home after school. The clouds were forming in different shades of mottled black and grey, appearing in whorls above them, an obvious warning for upcoming rain.

“No.” Seungkwan’s ears turned red, Hansol’s mouth went dry. “I was just wondering, because you seem more, well.”

“Okay.” 

Seungkwan imitated him. “‘Okay.’”

“What was up with that nickname, anyway? _Han_?”

“I got tired of ‘Sol’.”

“My name’s only two syllables. You’ve already run out.”

“You have a surname, too.”

“When have we ever called each other by our surnames?”

“Whatever. My nicknames are _cute_. Everyone says that.”

“No, Seungkwan. Not everyone says that. You know who says that? Your gaggle of followers who are so far up your ass they can see the light coming down from your throat.”

 _“Hey.”_ He folded his arms, scrunching his face up. “Okay, okay. Maybe you’re right. But they’re not that far up my ass. You’re always exaggerating, Hansol. You’re so _mean_.”

Hansol laughed and said, “They’re _so_ whipped, Kwan. Seriously. They’d probably buy you the entire Star Wars series – prequels, originals, and sequels – on Blu-Ray and DVD if you asked them for it.”

“Why are you so _mad_?”

“ _What_?”

“I’m just jok–ing,” Seungkwan said, smiling whilst flicking Hansol’s nose.

“I can kick your fucking ass all the way to Peru and back with these new and improved muscles.”

“You could’ve even without your new and improved muscles.” Seungkwan looked at him, pleased with himself. “Hm. So, you _have_ been working out. Could’ve just said so from the start.”

“Yeah, but I started in September,” Hansol said. “Not exactly recently.”

“Oh, I already guessed,” Seungkwan said, raking his eyes up and down Hansol’s upper body. “You don’t think I haven’t realised how good your biceps look now?”

Hansol almost blushed under his gaze. Almost. Almost. Almost. _I do not have a crush on Seungkwan._ “Whatever. It’s not exactly a _secret_.”

“You can never keep a secret from me,” said Seungkwan.

Hansol’s arms were covered in goose pimples. “And how exactly do you know that?”

“Because you always end up telling me everything.” _Well._ Seungkwan tilted his head towards the sky. “Ah, shit. It’s raining.”

“What? No it’s not.” Then he felt a drop on his forehead. Then on his nose, then on top of his head, then on his eyebrow. Then another. And then it was drizzling lightly, but gradually more and more by the second. Seungkwan pulled up the hood of his jacket even more, frowning.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Seungkwan.

“Are you capable of that?” said Hansol, opening up his umbrella. Seungkwan leaned closer into him.

“Funny. No, honestly. You have to hear me out.”

“Okay.”

“I was thinking. And I think–”

“Really?”

“Hansol,” Seungkwan whigned. _Say it. Again and again and again and again and again._ “ _Listen._ ”

“I am.” By then, it was chucking it down. As in litres upon litres of water pouring down from above them, at the same time as there was wind, wind slapping their faces angrily.

“Well, here’s the the thing. I’m thinking about like, coming out to my parents.” 

“Oh,” Hansol said. “Okay.”

“Are you _capable_ of saying anything other than ‘okay’?” Then, all of a sudden, Seungkwan stopped dead in his tracks, slowing to a complete halt on the pavement, a splash erupting from below his feet as his boots met the ground in a hurry.

Hansol looked at him, surprised. Seungkwan had lost his cool. That rarely happened. Like, it never happened. Their eyes met, and he looked just as shocked as Hansol did. “Sorry,” Seungkwan said.

“Uh,” Hansol said smartly. He wanted to say more – but he didn’t know what. It felt as though _never_ knew what. “It’s fine.” Why was he such an awful friend? First he wanted to kiss him and now he couldn’t even help him.

“Well, what do you think?” Seungkwan asked, continuing walking, getting underneath Hansol’s umbrella again, squinting to avoid rain in his eyes. “Should I?”

“That’s.” Hansol paused. “That’s up to you to decide.”

“Yeah, but it’s virtually impossible for me to make big decisions on my own. Hansol, you know this.” 

“I don’t _know._ ” Had he raised his voice? He had definitely raised his voice. “Sorry,” he added gruffly, and looked away as to not meet Seungkwan’s gaze. Soon, they’d be arriving at the train tracks. He wondered if Seungkwan would invite him back to his house, or if they’d part ways. Nothing was as easy as when they were children. Back then, they’d automatically turn towards Seungkwan’s part of the neighbourhood, never stopping their naturally flowing conversation.

“It’s fine,” Seungkwan said softly. They walked in silence for a few seconds.

“Your parents are,” Hansol started, “good people. In their way. Seungkwan, I don’t think they’d ever, ever like, kick you out, or something drastic. Or, or, or, you know.” Was he stuttering? He was. “Or, like, something like that. I don’t know if they’d be shocked. Maybe. But, Kwan, they’d still _love_ you. They’re your parents.”

“You’re probably right.”

The only sound that could be heard was the rain repetitively pattering down on his umbrella. Onomatopoeically. Over and over and over. “You know they wouldn’t–”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Hansol?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad you know.”

“Mhm.”

“So, are you coming over to my house?”

“Sure.”

“No one’s home tonight.” Seungkwan smiled at him. “We can make waffles for dinner.”

“Should we stop by the supermarket and get ingredients?”

“I think we have every at home. But we can go and buy some strawberries.”

“Are they even still in season?”

 

 

The months flew by. Mostly, it was just a blur of different events in his life.

Hansol got a job working part-time at their local library. Academy Library. And he loved it there. He often found himself zoning out by just sitting inside, breathing in the scent of new books and the donated copies of the old classics before his manager would come and hit the back of his head half-playfully, telling him to make himself useful, and that he wasn’t being paid to sit there and look pretty. He loved studying the people who visited the library, there was old lady Hitoki who came there to read the newspaper and drink vanilla tea, the university students who would sit for hours using the free wifi and drinking black coffee and writing essays on their neat laptops with their hands in their heads, mums reading picture books to their toddlers, chattering on about the perks of using talcum powder and what nappy company was the best. Hansol found himself listening intently to everyone’s conversations, picking up gossip from hairdressers to construction workers. It was amazing what he managed to learn about different people in town during his shifts.

Sometimes, Seungkwan visited him after school, spending his whole afternoon commenting on the way Hansol would clean a shelf or put books back properly. Soonyoung and Mingyu came along, too, dicking around and making everyone in there glare at them, and Hansol had to, as a respectful member of staff, actually tell them off at times.

Here’s the funny thing: the two of them, Mingyu and Soonyoung, had quickly managed to become his and Seungkwan’s best friends. The four of them went karaoking together, saw shitty horror films at the cinema together, and, once in a blue moon, studied together. Hansol loved their company; loved listening to their friendly bickering whilst he was mopping the same strip of floor for the 3rd time.

Apart from finally having a job and an own source of income, Hansol had struggled through exams at the end of term, Seungkwan doing nothing to help apart from being his ‘personal cheerleader’. Their evenings were spent repeating irregular verb forms and cramming chemistry formulas into one another’s heads. Everything seemed at ease for _Seungkwan_ , obviously, as his self confidence stayed higher than Mount Kilimanjaro. Exams and tests didn’t really phase him. They never had. Smart Seungkwan. Helpful Hansol. Fortunately, after a stressful three weeks, they both passed all of their classes and celebrated by visiting the park

Hansol turned 17. Mingyu gave him a punch on the shoulder. Soonyoung gave him a manga book he’d stolen from the library when he was eight (Naruto volume three). Seungkwan gave him some more magic stars.

Seungkwan turned 17. Mingyu gave him a punch on the shoulder. Soonyoung gave him a second hand cookbook. Hansol gave him a note with an IOU for one pig’s heart. At the sight of Soonyoung and Mingyu’s puzzled faces, Hansol had to, laughing loudly, explain that the two of them gave each other the same presents every year.

Autumn came. Rainy season had almost passed completely.

Hansol was in the bath. It was a good opportunity for thinking, and the house was a lot quieter after Duho had moved out during the summer. Half of his head was underwater. He was listening to his own heart beating.

The most perplexing thing in his life was his own feelings and, quite frankly, they were ruining his life more than exams and money and acne and mood swings and brothers and chivvying parents. He often thought of his own feelings as malicious, nauseating. When he could, he ignored them. And when he couldn’t – the days he lay in his bed, staring at his ceiling aimlessly, head in hands – he pushed his body to the maximum until he could only think about the pain in his body lingering. His mum worried about him constantly, asking if he ate and slept enough, asking if he was okay, asking if working at the library and doing homework and revising was too stressful. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was him. The issue was _Seungkwan._ Because if only there was a way for his cheeks to stop turning a sanguine colour when they fingers met, or for his brain to resist the temptation to grab his waist, pulling him tighter before tangling their hands together.

“Hansol?”

His mum. He lowered his head into the water.

“Hansol?” She knocked. Once, then twice 

He gave in. “What it is?” 

“Seungkwan’s on the phone.” Was he using the landline again?

“ _What?_ Why?”

“You better talk to him.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“Hansol,” she hissed. “Get out here.” 

He listened to the tone in her voice, sighed deeply and pulled the plug out, watching the water slowly make its way down the drain. 

Upon answering, Hansol said, “We have mobile phones, Kwan,” and Seungkwan replied, “I came out to my parents,” sending Hansol into panic. “ _Chill_ ,” he said immediately later, probably after hearing Hansol drastically suck his breath in. “It, um, went well.” 

Hansol breathed out. “What did they say?”

Seungkwan breathed out, too. “Actually, they weren’t that surprised. That’s not what they said. But, yeah, they weren’t. I could tell.” 

Hansol’s hands were shaking, and he didn’t know why. “You could tell?” 

“They just hugged me, because I started crying. I don’t really know why I did that. The thing is, my parents don’t really love each other anymore, I think. But they don’t want to get a divorce. Because they have me. And they make loads of money. So, anyway, they just hugged me and said they’ll always love me. Like you said, I guess.” He was rambling. “‘Seungkwan, you’re our one and only child, of course we’d never hate you’. I don’t really know why I cried, Hansol, I think I wasn’t really sad. I was just anxious. I think I even said, ‘Don’t hate me’. So, yeah.”

Hansol was quiet. “How do you feel?” 

“Relieved,” said Seungkwan. “I hope this united my parents a little more. Have I even told you this? They fight quite a lot. Mum gets angry at Dad all the time. I have, right?”

“I think so,” Hansol said. Seungkwan hadn’t said anything about it, but Hansol had noticed. “But, you’re happy, right?”

“I’m happy I’ve finally told them,” Seungkwan said. “But I don’t know. I still feel anxious.”

“I think that’s normal.” 

“I made it out to be such a big deal. But then, when we were eating dinner later, they acted as if nothing had happened. Maybe they didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, for my sake, or something. What do you think, Sol?”

“That’s probably it,” Hansol replied.

“Mhm,” Seungkwan said. 

“You sound sad.”

“I’m not sad about that.”

“Your parents?”

“You know, my dad sleeps on the sofa instead of in the same bed as Mum.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

“Want me to come over? They’re not home, right?”

“I don’t feel like being here right now.”

“Park?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll be there in ten. I have to get dressed.”  
  
“You’re naked?”

Hansol blushed. His parents were sitting in the living room, not far down the corridor from were he was standing, and they’d probably heard the whole conversation. Not Seungkwan’s side, but his. It embarrassed him. He lowered his voice a little. “I’m wearing a towel, Kwan. I just got out of the bath.” 

Seungkwan said, “Oh, okay. Thanks for doing that for me.”

Hansol’s face was said still burning over Seungkwan soft voice asking him if he was naked, and he said, “It’s fine. See you there,” before putting the telephone down. 

A few days after this happened, when Seungkwan and Hansol had met up at the park and Hansol hadn’t been able to stop his hands from shaking, something even stranger happened.

September ended and the bitterness of October arrived, which meant Hansol’s mother practically forced him to go downtown and get some clothes that were actually suitable for the current weather. The current weather being this: grey and miserable. He was walking down the aisle of H&M alone – Seungkwan was at some relative’s house; Mingyu and Soonyoung were also going away somewhere – during their half-term break, looking at thicker jackets than his denim one, bored, when someone tapped him on the back. “Hansol? Choi Hansol? It’s you, right?”

He turned around, frowning. At first, he couldn’t pinpoint the face he was now looking at, but after a few, long seconds of awkward staring, he realised exactly who it was. “ _Azure?”_

And that’s how he ended up sitting at a café in their town’s shopping centre, with Seungkwan’s first and only girlfriend he’d had so far. Obviously, she looked nearly completely different from when they were 14. She’d ditched the Abercrombie and Fitch jumpers, blonde extensions, and sparkly, red eyeshadow, and was now wearing a minimalistic outfit consisting of only a stylish black jumpsuit and beret. She was happy to see him. He didn’t know why, since he’d never been at all nice to her when she was Seungkwan’s girlfriend. In fact, he’d been an asshole to her, most of the time, for no real reason.

 _Café Paris_ was hardly luxurious. It was the completely opposite end of that. By hearing the name, you can most likely understand that. But he ordered ‘cappuccinos’ for the two of them, and she bought them two slices of apple pie with whipped cream.

“God, it’s been _so_ long,” Azure said, taking a bite out of the apple pie. It was soggy, not very nice, and lukewarm after being in the café’s microwave for two minutes, but she didn’t seem to mind. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m, um, fine,” he said. He took a sip from his cup of coffee. “You?”

“Good, good,” she said, smiling. Maybe she was more alike Seungkwan than he’d realised a few years ago. She seemed nice. He’d hated her. Why had he hated her? Because he was definitely, no doubt about it, really, truly jealous of her, because Seungkwan really, truly liked her, and Hansol couldn’t stand that, couldn’t stand her for that, even if he’d denied it in front of Seungkwan on multiple occasions. 

They exchanged smalltalk for a few minutes, exchanging simple information about their different schools and life situations. She complimented him on his muscles – _“I mean, you were kinda, no offense, scrawny before. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, though. I was hardly a model at the age, either,”_ – and he awkwardly complimented her on her drastic change of style. 

Then, she’d asked how Seungkwan was. He’d replied that he was, well, like he always was. The same as before, really, and that was when Azure said, “You know, this may surprise you, but I meet Seungkwan every now and again. Like, pretty often.” She saw his face, and laughed. “Not that we’re dating or anything. Just as friends. He was a good friend to me, you know. He still is.”

“Oh,” Hansol replied. “Yeah. I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not really a big secret or anything,” she said. “But he didn’t want me to tell you. But now, I guess, I have. He didn’t want you to know. I don’t know why. Maybe because you’d think that we’re like, an item, again.” He stared at her. “Which we’re not.” 

“Azure,” he said. “I understand. Seungkwan, he’s just like that, sometimes.” 

“Okay, okay, good.” Azure looked him right in the eyes. “He’s such a good guy, Hansol. He helped me realise loads of things about myself. He’s helped me a lot. Maybe the two of us didn’t always see eye to eye–” 

He interrupted her, now, because he was bursting to say it, “Look, about that, I was such an asshole to you, and I know it now, I don’t really know why but I just wanted to say I’m so, so sorry for the way I _acted_ –” 

But all she did was shush him, putting a finger to her lips kindly, and his apology trailed off. “It’s okay. I get it.” 

“But, I was so _mean._ ” 

“Everyone’s mean at that age.”

“You’re too kind,” he said, and she laughed. “I was such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but, you see, I can understand why you were an asshole,” Azure said. “You’d had your best friend, Seungkwan, to yourself for all that time, and suddenly you had to share him with some random chick you’d never met. Hansol. There’s no need to be sorry.” 

“Well, I’m still sorry.”

“Fine. Apology accepted. Okay?” He nodded, was quiet for a few moments, and finished the last of his slice of pie whilst trying to not meet her eyes. 

Azure hesitated, then said, “Can I say something uncalled for?” 

Hansol said, “Sure.”

Azure said, “You’re in love with Seungkwan, right?” He looked up. “It’s just. That. Uh, sometimes, I think that you weren’t even jealous of me in the friendship way. Yeah, it’s pretty out of pocket for me to say this, right? I shouldn’t have.”

Hansol shrugged. “Uh.” Because what was he supposed to say?

“Again, I probably shouldn’t say this, but if _you_ are,” she continued, “I just want to say that, um, I sometimes think that the reason Seungkwan broke up with me was because he’s in love with you. I mean, he adores you. He’s always talking about you.” 

“I didn’t know _he_ broke up with _you.”_

“He didn’t say?”

“No, never. He just said you two had broken up. And when I came over to cheer him up, he was all sad, so, I assumed that _you’d_ broken up with _him._ ”

“He was _sad_?” She raised her eyebrows. “That surprises me. Basically, when we broke up, he’d just been like, ‘I really like you as a friend,’ and all that, and I agreed that if he didn’t really like me as a girlfriend, there was no point. We ended it on mutual terms. Why would he be sad?” 

“I have no idea,” Hansol said, and frowned. 

“Hm,” Azure said. “Maybe he wasn’t sad over me. Maybe he was sad over you.” 

“Huh?” 

“I told you. Sometimes, I’m convinced he broke up with me because he’d realised he’s in love with you. And not me.”

He was silent.

Azure continued, “Like I said, Seungkwan made me realise a lot of things. Like that I’m gay.”

“You’re gay?” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Seungkwan was _that_ much of a bad kisser?”

She laughed at his shitty attempt of a joke. That’s what he always did. Made jokes when confronted with an utterly absurd situation like this: Seungkwan’s ex-girlfriend, telling him she thought Seungkwan was in love with him. It was ridiculous. It was ridiculous. “No, no. It was after we’d broken up, and started meeting up as friends. As you know, he’s bi, and I’d never, well, met anyone that I knew who was open about their non-straight sexuality, just like that. So, that really, really helped me figure out things about myself. Like that I like girls. And stuff.” The beret on her head was slowly sliding down her hair, and she picked her hand up to straighten it properly. 

He nodded, and then grinned. “Azure?”

“Mhm?”

“I think you may be right.”

“About what?” 

“Seungkwan.”

“That he’s in love with you?”

“I don’t know about him. But I know that I’m in love with him.”

She stared at him, and he was suddenly smiling like an idiot. “You just realised it _now?_ ”

“I think I’ve known.”

“You’ve _known_? But haven’t told him?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been repressing it for quite some time, I guess.” 

“ _How long?_ ” Azure was in complete awe of him, and Hansol, he didn’t feel as anxious as he thought he would feel during this moment. The time he finally admitted it to someone. He had no idea it would be to Azure, someone he used to hate, albeit for no proper reason, or that it would be sitting next to her in _Café Paris,_ but he felt relieved at the same time as he felt tired. But there was nervosity, shaky hands, or flattening of cowlicks. He felt sure of himself. And there was no greater feeling than that. Can you believe that? Hansol, in contact with his emotions. It didn’t happen often. It never really happened.

“A while, probably. Like, maybe a few years.”

“A few years,” Azure repeated, in utter disbelief. She blinked. “Hansol, you have to tell him.” 

Hansol looked at her. “Do you really think he feels the same way?” He moved the spoon on his plate a little to the side to distract himself momentarily. He wanted to tell her this: Azure, I really need to know. I know that I’ve known, myself. I’ve known it for so long. I’ve known. But you know what? I would tell myself it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. And I would just tell myself I was confusing romantic feelings with platonic ones, and that it would go over, but it never did, and I hated that, and now I don’t know what to say to him.

She looked at him the same way Seungkwan often did. With the undeniable look of, Are you acting stupid or were you born this way? Again, they were more similar than Hansol had thought. “I do. I think so. That’s why you have to _tell_ him.”

And he wanted to explain her was that he knew from the way he wanted to grab the back of Seungkwan’s hair and kiss him softly, that he knew from the way he wanted to hold his hand, the way he wanted him to say his name over and over again, that he knew from the way he only saw him in a crowded space, that he knew from the way he could listen to him humming Backstreet Boys songs for hours of end, that he could pick out his footsteps in a cacophony of noises, that he knew virtually everything about his best friend of ten years, and that when he looked at Seungkwan, he sometimes forgot to blink his eyes.

“I don’t know how to tell it to him.” 

“Huh? It’s Seungkwan,” she said. “He’s your best friend. You just tell him.

And he thought about a random moment then, with Azure sitting, smiling, in the chair opposite him. One time, he and Seungkwan had been walking down the street when they’d seen an English quote spray painted onto a wall of a restaurant. It was this quote:  _“I love thee!” said my heart, since my lips can’t._  Hansol had read the quote aloud, and Seungkwan had said, “ _I love that,_ ” to which Hansol had replied, “ _What?_ ” and Seungkwan had said, rolling his eyes, “ _The quote, idiot_ ,” and Hansol had said, “ _Oh, right. Yeah. It’s nice_ ,” and Seungkwan had replied, after a long pause, “ _Sometimes you can be_ so _naïve, Sol._ ”

 

 

The following day, Seungkwan arrived home after going down south to meet his relatives. They were sitting inside Seungkwan’s room, as they had many times. His parents were still down south; he’d taken the train home on his own, and the two of them had agreed to stay inside since the weather outside was pretty shitty and, additionally, they couldn’t be bothered to go for a walk.

Hansol’s father, who was full of one-liners, had once told him of the proverb ‘absence makes thy heart grow fonder’. Upon meeting up with Seungkwan at the train station, after he’d said, “Hansol,” and hugging him quickly when they’d seen each other on platform three, he sort of could understand his dad’s words. Who even invented proverbs? The one who first said this one must’ve a pretty smart fucking person.

“I have a question,” Hansol said, after Seungkwan had recapped a funny story about his youngest cousins asking him questions about sex, and Hansol had laughed although his mind was thousands, thousands of miles away. “To ask you.”

Seungkwan looked up from where he was propped against the wall, pillow in his lap. Hansol was sitting against the other side of the wall, and Seungkwan was smiling, and Hansol was in love with him. “And?”

“Kwan, look,” Hansol said. “It’s important.”

“Woah,” Seungkwan said. “You sound pretty serious. For once.”

“I _am_ serious.”

“Oh,” he said, because he must’ve seen something in Hansol’s eyes, so the smile fell off his lips.

“Okay,” Hansol said. “Okay. Here’s the question. It’s serious.” He almost hesitated, but didn’t. “Who were you going to send the love letter to?”

“ _What?_ ”

“You know, in primary school. The love letter. In Kouseki’s Christmas Letter Box.”

“I remember what it _was._  But that was it? That was your serious question?” 

He looked at Seungkwan, smiling now. “You told me that you’d tell me ten years later.”

Seungkwan frowned. “You know, you can be such a dickhead at times. You’re always mocking my feelings.”

“I’m not mocking you. I’m asking.”

“You’re _mocking_ me. Because you already know the answer.” 

“I don’t know the answer.”

“Well, you can take an educated fucking _guess._ ” Seungkwan hardly ever swore, and all of a sudden, his expression changed completely. “You know what, Hansol? You _really_ piss me off sometimes.”

Hansol wasn’t smiling anymore. “Huh?”

“You’re always doing this,” Seungkwan said, now sitting up properly on the bed, putting the pillow to the side. Not even merely his expression changed. His entire aura did. “You know everything about me, but pretend to not know. And you just always, you just always pretend to not know. Pisses me off.” When Hansol stared at him in shock, he continued, “You know I wrote that letter to you. Of course you do. Or, at least you could’ve guessed that.”

“I didn’t know that.” Hansol frowned. “Look, I’m sorry, Kwan. I was just making a stupid joke.”

“Yeah, you like making those.”

“What’s this about?”

You may find this hard to believe, but Hansol and Seungkwan rarely had any arguments. They would always occasionally snap at each other, and they were always joking around by calling each other insults, but had never once fallen out properly. And if they did get into a big argument, they’d always apologize straight away, because one of them would feel guilty over getting mad at the over. So, sitting there on the bed, Hansol didn’t really feel like pouring his heart out, as he’d planned to do. He’d originally thought that Seungkwan would laugh at the question, say, ‘You, of course, Hansol, it’s always been you,’ and that Hansol would proceed to say that he was in love with in him and had been for several months or perhaps even several years or perhaps even. One. Whole. Decade.

But, in lieu of this makebelieve scenario, Seungkwan folded his arms. “You know how I feel, and you’re just mocking me.”

“Feel about _what?_ ” Hansol felt as though he was going crazy listening to Seungkwan ranting ike this, so he ran his hands through his hair to indicate this feeling, then tugged it, hard.

“You!” Seungkwan snapped, getting off the bed. “You know my feelings about _you_. Look, I know that you met Azure. She told me you had. She called me yesterday. She told me you two had talked. I didn’t ask her about it, but of course she would’ve told you. Obviously, she did. Obviously. Otherwise, you’d never bring that old shit up!”

Hansol stood up, too, and he was suddenly right in front of Seungkwan. Seungkwan looked away. “Seungkwan,” he said.

“Shut up,” Seungkwan said. “I’m angry. I’m _angry._ ”

“Azure didn’t tell me anything about you.”

“Well, obviously she did.” He repeated his previous words. Seungkwan refused to meet his eyes. “You’re being such an asshole about this, and I’m angry, and I’m embarrassed, and if you could just, please–”

“I’m not leaving, Kwan.”

“I didn’t tell you to _leave_ , did I?”

And Hansol said, “Seungkwan.”

He retaliated with a stubborn, “What?” 

“I don’t really know how to say this but, uh.”

Then something unexpected happened. Possibly even more unexpected than Seungkwan calling the landline after breaking up with Azure, possibly even more unexpected than bumping into Azure in an aisle at H&M and only an hour after they’d met have her tell him she’s gay.

Because straight after Hansol had said, _“I don’t really know how to say this but, uh,”_  he started crying, before he could even get the words, the main sentence, out of his hopeless mouth. The funny thing was this: he really thought Seungkwan would be the one to cry during this moment of confession, since he always was the one to cry out of the two of them, but suddenly Hansol found his eyes welling up, his shoulders shaking drastically up and down, and he found himself seeking only this: the comfort of his best friend, his soulmate, who was standing in front of him, completely dumbstruck.

“You’re crying,” Seungkwan stated, eventually. 

“I don’t know why,” Hansol said, as he felt fat, salty tears create comfortable paths down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” 

Seungkwan’s eyes softened. “No, Hansol,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean to.” He held his arms in the air, like he didn’t really know what to do with them, as this was unexpected to him as it was to the next person. For once in Seungkwan’s life, he had no idea what to say to Hansol. “I’m sorry, Sol.” 

“It’s not about that,” Hansol said. “The thing is this. Seungkwan, I, um, well. I’m in love with you. God. _God_.” 

At this, Seungkwan cracked a small, soft smile. “Well, why are you crying over _that_?”

“I’ve been so, so stupid,” Hansol said. “And I’m in love with you, Kwan.”

“Yeah. You’ve been pretty stupid.”

“I really have been.”

“So, Azure _did_ tell you what I’d told her.”

“No,” Hansol said, shaking his head, looking back to Seungkwan. “She just proposed it as a question. And, I’ve known about it. She just made me realised that I’ve known for a while. Kwan, I mean it. I’ve really known for a while, now. Do you know how much I’ve been holding it back?” He laughed, and he was so, so, so, stupid, and this made Seungkwan laugh, too. “I’ve known since like, the first day of high school.” 

“In that case, I’m even dumber, since I’ve known since way before Azure,” Seungkwan said, giggling. “There was this one day in junior high. You know, when you asked me to watch _E.T._ with you? You were so nervous about it.” He laughed again. “We’re both idiots. Why the hell are you even crying? I should be crying. That’s my job.”

“Yeah, why the hell am I crying?” Hansol said, and he wiped his eyes, and Seungkwan finally took his right arm up and gently touched Hansol’s cheek. He closed his eyes, then opened them. “But, were you really going to send that letter to me? Even back then?”

“To be honest,” Seungkwan said, “I can’t even remember. But I think so. Maybe it wasn’t even a love letter, but it was something private to you. Maybe I just wanted to tease you.” He smiled. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

He sent Seungkwan a similar smile in return. “It’s okay. I _was_ a real fucking tosser. To both you, and Azure.”

“Mhm,” Seungkwan said. “But, I get it, kind of. And, you wanna know what? I was still pissed off. Or, some part of me was. But, still, I’ve still never adored you more than just now, when you cried.”

“Why? _God,_ I’m a mess.”

“You are. But, I was impressed. I was impressed. Because you didn’t try and _hide_. You’re always hiding, Hansol. Like, you sometimes decide to just build these walls around yourself, and you don’t often let your feelings show. You’re always hiding.”  

“I’m not now.”

“No. You’re not. And I love that.”

“You’re,” Hansol started.

“I’m what?” Seungkwan had this grin on his face. “Your best friend, your first love, your one and only?”

Hansol blushed. “You’re exhausting.”

Seungkwan grabbed Hansol by the cheeks, closing off the space between them. Instead of going forward to meet his currently extremely over-licked lips, as Hansol expected him to, Seungkwan tilted his head upwards and kissed him on the forehead. Only a few millimetres below the place where the hairline started, and then he started slowly travelling up the head. And Hansol couldn’t help but wonder why kisses on the mouth, romantic, and kisses on the neck, titillating, and kisses on the nose, chaste, were so dramaticized, so excessively hyped by authors and film directors and poets, when there was something so small, so beautiful and simple as that: a forehead kiss.

Hansol opened his eyes and said, “Can you do that again?” 

Seungkwan looked at him. “Hm?”

“Forehead.”

Seungkwan asked him, “Forehead?” before leaning over slightly and kissing him on the forehead again.

Hansol looked up, and felt himself bursting with zeal, and he grinned and Seungkwan started grinning again, too, matching Hansol’s own stupid expression, and he let himself look at Seungkwan’s eyes that seemed to be telling that he really loved him, that he really, really did, like he’d been saying all those years and that he’d meant it when he said he loved him the most of all in his backyard when they were 14, and his expression was telling Hansol this, and he _let_ the expression tell him this – that he was safe. And, he wouldn’t say it was the absolute first time since he was born, held in the doctor’s steady arms, that he’d felt that way – as it would most likely be described in a novel – but it was without a doubt one of the first times in a while, and in that exact moment he could barely even place the feeling of complete surety, pulsing through his body. And Hansol was letting himself believe this: that anything bad, anything wrong that had ever happened to him before had definitely _happened_ , and nothing could now be undone, but despite that, he let himself believe that it couldn’t reach him now, not with Seungkwan’s lips on his forehead and with his tiny, appreciative, smile, the one Hansol had loved since they were children. 

Seungkwan asked, “When exactly, on the first day of high school, did you even realise? Like, during class, or what?”

Hansol laughed and said, “It’s a pretty good story, actually.” He thought about that sudden, overwhelming desire to kiss Seungkwan that had been thrown over him whilst they were sitting in the park with their feet in the pond’s murky, tepid water. “Want to hear?”

“Tell me,” Seungkwan said, smiling gently.

And so he did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't posted anything in like, half a year, lmao. i suck. long story short: i've been busy. but, anyway now (!!!) i have the entire summer ahead of me to write, and i even signed up for the gyuhao fic fest, and getting comments on my previous fics has really been keeping me going. so, again, thank you for reading, always <3  
> [twitter! come talk to me, or like, give me prompts to write (i probably will write them. i mean, why not?)](https://twitter.com/greeneryrains)


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